Punished by the Dictator's Daughter (The Initiation 3, Book 3) Read Online Free PDF

shouldn’t be
running now.
    Mansk fiddles with something under the cart,
and I can see that it is some sort of latch. This springs a small
trap door, which falls open with a slight squeak that makes me jump
and almost hit my head against the bottom of the cart.
    “Get in,” Mansk insists.
    I look up and see a space like the interior
of a plain wooden coffin. It is not empty. Max and Greg – fully
clothed in similar peasant garb – are squeezed in; two big men who
can barely find room to flex their elbows.
    And I am to squeeze in with them.
    “Gina,” Max cries softly in relief.
    I have not seen him for the longest time. One
look at his beautiful face is enough to send those familiar
stirrings coursing through my heart – the ones that mean all things
to me: love, duty, belonging, home. They say absence makes the
heart grow fonder, and he is like an oasis to the parched after a
long desert trek. All my old feelings of love come rushing back
again.
    I spy Greg’s face. He too sees my devotion to
Max, and he has gone deathly still.
    Oh no. I am confused once again. I love Max,
but I love Greg as well. This past week has cemented our
relationship. We fucked every day, tied to each other in positions
that would have made breeders envious. We talked as we fucked,
steering away from the real topic at hand that neither of us wants
to talk about: Max is still your boyfriend . What are you
going to do about us?
    Can’t I have the two of them? Can’t we all
live in some impossibly happy, impossibly surreal ménage a trois?
Can’t we all fuck like rabbits and share one another in some rich,
idyllic fantasy where mad dictator’s daughters and Alice don’t
exist?
    Greg offers me his hand to help me climb
inside. Of course. Now is not the time to think about three-ways
and relationships when we are not even sure we will survive. But I
guess our impending mortality makes us examine life a little
closer.
    Once I am safely ensconced inside the crawl
space, it is truly a tight squeeze. I am sandwiched between my two
beautiful boys. Max wraps his arms around me, as does Greg. Our
hearts beat in unison.
    “No talking in there. If we stop, do not move
a muscle,” Mansk warns us.
    I suppose there are not going to be any
toilet stops.
    Mansk shuts the latch. The boys tighten their
grips around me as the darkness closes in on us. We are now three
souls in our shared coffin. As the cart begins to move, our
entwined bodies jerk with the momentum, and we begin our perilous
journey into the unknown.
     
    *
     
    I don’t quite know how long we have been in
there, but it seems like forever. I am dangerously thirsty. My
bladder is increasingly full. My right calf is bursting with pins
and needles, and there is a buzzing sound in my ears. The
clop-clop-clop of hooves is comforting. They denote progress to
wherever we are going, and I frankly don’t know where that is. But
the closer we are to getting out of here is fine by me.
    Mansk didn’t mention we would be getting to
the border by cart. How long will it take? Three days? Well, when
he finally opens this crawlspace and finds our dead, dehydrated
bodies, maybe he will be sorry he hadn’t left us any food or
drink.
    But yes, yes, yes, I know. I’m getting ahead
of myself once again. I have to put my faith in him. If he was
going to betray us, he wouldn’t go through this elaborate
cart-and-horse shenanigan, right? And the cart would have been
stopped a long time ago.
    Maybe I spoke too soon. Because the sudden
absence of movement and the cessation of the clop-clop-clop
suggests that we have stopped.
    Uh oh.
    I hear voices. Loud authoritative voices. The
driver speaks, and strain as I may, I do not hear Mansk’s deep,
gruff voice. Is he even with us? Suddenly, I am afraid. Mansk’s
presence (or suggested presence) is paramount to my comfort. Now we
are in the hands of this lecherous driver, who may or may not
choose to betray us.
    The boys sense it too, as evidenced by their
tense